Mend
by 1Past and Present1
Summary: After reflecting upon her life, she might want a bigger slice.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

How are you?

* * *

Rouge keeps the box closed whilst Shadow tapes it shut. "Is this the last of them?" She already knows.

"Yes."

"Right." Tries to hide her disappointment. "I forgot how few things you have."

* * *

"I miss you."

A soft, gently amused sound.

"What's so funny?"

"We saw each other yesterday."

"It's not the same." She huffs. "You know it's not the same."

"It's not that different, is it?" He's smiling, she can hear it.

Still, she doesn't reply immediately, her full mouth thinly drawn, downturned at the corners.

"Rouge?" His smile is dimming, too, sensing her shakily bottled distress.

"I still wait up for you at night, in case I hear you screaming."

He takes his turn to speak and chooses to say nothing, yet suddenly, he sounds so tense.

"It's silly, isn't it? Why do I wait up for you when your room is empty? Well, it's hardly yours anymore, is it? And yet I wait up for you."

Still, he doesn't answer her.

"Shadow," she says, feeling old and tired, "I miss you a whole lot."

* * *

She keeps glancing at the unsealed boxes, keeping a record in her head, watching them diminish in number as his things are packed away.

He's taking his time, thinking it might be less painful this way.

* * *

A conversation can be a lot like a dance.

* * *

"Is there any point in trying to hide the way I feel? Would that be lying?"

"I'm not sure, either way."

"Me neither."

The chair is soft and engulfing.

"I used to be a splendid creature, wasn't I?"

"You're still splendid."

"But it's like you tore me in two. Like I'm somehow less of myself since you left. Like you took part of me with you. My better half."

The clock ticks chances away.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know, honey. It's your life, so live it well."

"You've got yours, too. Yet you hardly seem alive these days. Our friends… I'm worried deeply about you."

"I keep going about it in circles in my head. I want you back, but I know I can't expect you to stay here, with me. You're fully grown, you've gotten better with people. You've got her. You hardly need my protection."

"Rouge…"

"Living with me might be inappropriate."

"Maybe."

"Still. I want you back."

The fireplace is cold, lifeless and empty.

"Is that selfish and unreasonable?"

"You love me."

"But am I loving you correctly? Is this love, really?"

"These are heavy questions, old friend, and I'm not sure I have the words of my own to answer them."

* * *

"And I think that, sometimes, doing the right thing is the difficult thing. Sometimes cowardice tries to prevail. So, tell me." She looks up, finally. "What's the right, brave thing for me to do?"

He takes her hand. "I think you should forgive me and move on with your life."

* * *

"I've only realised now – now that you're gone – how embedded into my daily being you really were." She emptily plays with the edge of her dry spoon, gazing into her brimming bowl with a small stomach. "Oh, Shadow, what am I to do without you?"

"I know it's hard."

"It really is."

"But you're easily one of the strongest, toughest people I know." His soup has likely gone cold.

"I still hurt."

"The pain will stop. It has to."

"I hope so."

"And we believe that things will get better, will be made right. Hope and faith hold hands, don't they? How can you have one without the other?"

"I guess you're right."

"Listen. You've managed without me so far. Give it time."

"I'm managing? I feel horrible."

"You'll be okay without me, eventually."

"Stop saying that."

"I… I don't know what else to say. I don't know how to make this easier. But you need to believe me." He carefully continues, "This adjustment…"

"That's what you're calling it?"

"It will take some time. But things will get better."

"It feels so bottomless."

"Be patient. Be strong. Be faithful. Have hope. There is an end to pain. There is peace everlasting. I believe it."

* * *

For a little while, they listen to each other breathe, until it becomes too much.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Your voice is soothing. Like a warm, fuzzy blanket."

"That's cute."

"I mean it. I just really, really miss you. And… I dunno."

"You 'dunno' what?"

"How to handle my feelings. But listening to you is comforting for me."

"I think this is the least I can do for you."

"It feels like a lot. Thank you."

* * *

He wants to reach through the phone so he can take her shoulder into his hand and offer her a reassuring squeeze. It hurts, not being able to.

* * *

"Please, no more pregnant pauses. Just talk to me."

"I miss you, too," he says, very quietly. "Very much, actually. And it's been difficult without you being in such easy reach, as you used to be."

"I'm always within easy reach, hon."

"It… It's not the same."

* * *

He seamlessly transitions into a detailed description of the little, mundane things that comprised his day, along with the prominent things.

She takes in every word.

* * *

How are you?

Perhaps they're not really asking it, but just saying it. Not all of them, just certain persons. They might seem to ask, but – not entirely caring for the answer, not really seeking it out – maybe they rather say.

How are you?

A hollow sound, perhaps. But this is not a nice thing to think.

* * *

"I'm moving out."

Eyes widening by a fraction, all poise abruptly forgotten, she merely stares.

Guiltily, he lifts his eyes from his coffee and offers her a soft, consolatory smile, giving her time to digest his words.

"Moving out, you say?"

He nods slowly.

"As in," she pauses to dab her lips with her tongue, "you're gonna live someplace else?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

* * *

Staring at the page, searching for inspiration.

Music in the background.

Blank.

* * *

Easing herself back in her chair, hands flat on the table between them, she looks suddenly very pale. "This is about your lady friend, isn't it?"

"Don't misunderstand. She'd prefer that I live on my own. And I've realised a few things. I'd prefer it, too. But it isn't meant–"

"No, honey, I get what you're saying. It's very reasonable."

"So, you aren't upset by this?"

Rouge doesn't answer because she's unsure of how she could.

* * *

A conversation can be a lot like a dance. So as not look like poor dancers amongst themselves, some of them might disguise it in flourish, like a smile or a wink or a nod or a seemingly sincere tone.

How are you?

Could be a lethargic movement, but in easier exchanges, the minimal effort might be enough. They might fulfill their civic duty… An outwardly simple dance of many conflicting, soundless steps, performed under watchful eyes and to the music of wagging tongues. Perhaps to dance is to survive, sometimes.

How are you?

Having taken this step, they might feel a little better afterward. They might walk or hurry offstage with a dry brow and to some applause, or to none. Sometimes – having expended little if any energy, perhaps, in learning something new about someone else and committing such knowledge to memory, or in trying to solve another's problems, or in understanding pain beyond their own – they might feel a little more accomplished.

How are you?

In the anxiety of the dance, you might feel compelled to answer.

I'm fine.

* * *

"Years of a shared life."

"We're still sharing this life. We'll continue to share this life."

"It doesn't seem like it'll be the same."

* * *

"Got a place in mind?"

"Yes."

"Is it nice?"

"Nice enough. It's simple, but I like it. I've kept within my means."

"What does she think?"

His eyes become softer and faintly wistful, like they always seem to do when she is mentioned, or when he thinks of her, or when she's in his line of sight. "She likes it, too. And I hope you will."

"I might." Rouge passes Shadow another potato. "Are you planning to move in together?"

"No."

"Too sudden? Too forward?"

"We're traditional."

"I like that about you two."

* * *

"When are you leaving?" It's an effort, like she has to painfully squeeze the words out.

He reaches upward, threading his brow with an exhausted look on his face.

* * *

I'm fine.

You might say. Maybe because it's simply easier, even if you don't really mean it or aren't exactly sure. You might say it, even when you're dancing with yourself.

How am I?

I'm fine.

You could be fine, maybe. You could become fine.

Perhaps, when we aren't dancing alone, it doesn't always matter much. Maybe they're not really asking, because they're not really listening. You might see it in their eyes, in the way they keep their distance.

Maybe they've already turned their attention away from you before you've even gotten the chance to answer, and suddenly you find yourself poised, alone, in this dance.

Might as well dance on your own, maybe.

Maybe I am fine.

But some of them really do mean it. Some of them really do care. I'm not sure that it's best to assume the worst.

* * *

In her mind, he says something encouraging, and it starts a flicker, then a spark that leads to something more.

With a deep breath, Amy takes up the pen and begins to write.

 _A conversation can be a lot like a dance._

* * *

Am I fine, Sonic?


	2. Fragments

**Fragments**

Amy shakily sets down her pen, then collapses over her desk with a dramatic groan. Face pressed to the pages, the words blur and she wonders why this seems so hard.

Sonic would surely know the right words. He'd surely capture the appropriate tone. He wouldn't be too brief, or too prolonged. But Sonic isn't sitting beside her and all she has of him to rely on is the hypothetical Sonic in her head.

For now, she doesn't trust herself enough to try.

* * *

"Can I?"

Knuckles' blush almost glows. He nods, trembling. His amethyst eyes are wide and inexperienced. Trusting.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I… I want you to."

Rouge smoothly reaches around him, pulling him close to herself. She's so gentle, so in control.

His mane of radiant red hair spills in her hands, slipping through her fingers.

* * *

"She looks so sad."

"So grumpy, you mean."

"Shh, you guys! She'll hear you."

Rouge taps the far end of her cane to the ground in tandem with her own tune, unintentionally eavesdropping on three kids who stare at her from behind a tree. She's used to being stared at and verbally prodded like some exotic, scandalous animal, and she has taught herself to be unbothered by the intergenerational scrutiny.

She glances aside, her eyes snagged by a flash of colour. A familiar, dazzling young lady is fast approaching. Like a beacon.

Inwardly relieved for the distraction yet dreading the social interaction that comes with it, Rouge meditates on the pain in her knee and the ache of longing in her chest as Amy Rose finally drops into the empty space on the bench.

"Hi there!"

"You're late."

The hedgehog refrains from saying something sarcastic and instead replies with disarming compassion, "I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting. I didn't mean to. Thank you for hanging around for me."

The bat raises a brow without comment, eyes focused on something in the distance that may or may not be displeasing.

"It's just that I got so distracted with work. Time, or maybe just my imaginary grasp over it, seemed to escape me."

"You work too much."

"I enjoy my job. I feel it's worthwhile to invest myself in it. You aren't mad at me, are you?"

"Nah, it's fine."

"Well, just in case…"

Rouge blinks when a bag is placed in her hand.

"If it makes you feel any better, I brought you some of those mints you like so much," Amy finishes sweetly.

The bat, momentarily looking quite touched by the gesture, remembers to carefully mediate her expression into chilly indifference. She accepts the token with a curt nod. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome."

"This… is nice of you."

The hedgehog takes the time to carefully study the bat, much of the reserve of bubbly, friendly enthusiasm withering at the sight of so much lingering unhappiness.

"I must seem like a glacier to you," Rouge says softly, bearing something in her husky tenor that sounds almost apologetic and guilty, even though her stony, aloof features show nothing of the sort. Her eyes are distant, as if they gave up searching long ago.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're like a sun, to me."

The hedgehog, knowing not what to say, simply stares.

"You're so warm and bright," the bat continues a little more loudly. "How are you always so warm and bright, when my own optimism hardly sustains me?"

"You simply endure, don't you?"

"I'd like to do more than merely survive, honey."

Amy doesn't reply just then, instead reaching for her book. She slides it into the older woman's lap, beside the untouched mints. "You recognise it?"

"Of course. You used to lug this book around with you wherever you went."

"Ah, my little place for ideas. It's like a whole other world in there. A jigsaw world. Unfinished."

Rouge is respectfully speechless for several moments, before venturing gently, "Have you started writing again?"

"I'm trying."

"Why'd you stop, before?"

"My ideas were becoming increasingly sad, perhaps even perverse."

"Your depression."

"My depression."

"Did writing make it easier?"

"Perhaps. But sometimes, I'd read what I'd written and… I just…"

"Honey, you don't have to explain it to me."

"No, it's okay. I can talk about it."

"If it's anything like whatever it was that made me quit 'treasure hunting,' then I'm not sure I want to listen."

"Then all you should know is that I'm writing again because I want to write better stories. Happier stories."

"Does better necessitate happier?"

"I like to think so." The little hedgehog's eyes brim with tears. "I want to do it right this time. No shame, this time."

The bat feels brutal for saying nothing.

"If I can write something good, something that does good for someone else, somehow… I think it could be acceptable. I mean, what's the point of exercising a talent, or trying to cultivate one, if it isn't good and proper?"

"That's an interesting way of looking at it."

"You don't entirely agree with me, do you?"

"I'm not as altruistic as you."Rouge takes up the book. Eventually, she drawls huskily, "I remember how you were back then," with a smile.

The hedgehog is taken aback by the tenderness of the imminent recollections.

"Randomly you'd be inspired by what you heard, what you saw. By whatever struck you at the time. Always ready to whip out a pen and find a page at a moment's notice. It was cute, really." The bat's smile vanishes gradually. "But then you started to write less often, until I noticed how the hobby had become painful and bitter for you. Eventually, you simply stopped."

Amy flinches when Rouge's blue-green eyes meet with those of a warm, earthy green in a piercing instant.

"Why give me this book?"

"I want your feedback."

"That's what this little outing is about? Constructive criticism?"

"That, and I'm worried about you."

"Of course you are. You and every one of our friends. I'm the current popular topic, don't you know?"

"It isn't like that."

"First Shadow, then Knuckles. Yeah, it hurt me. A lot. But nowadays, it seems everybody acts like they expect me to break down in tears at any moment, to crumble under the pressure of being alive. Like I'm suddenly no longer me but some glass replica of me, caught in a tenuous balance between being okay and having that breakdown I just mentioned."

"I don't think you're fragile."

"Good, because I'm not."

"But I'm still worried."

"Uh-huh. 'Course you are."

"My bringing the book with me is mostly an excuse to spend time with you."

"You're keeping an eye on me."

"Not exactly. I'd like to give you a little company for a change. You've been so scarce, it's like we hardly see you nowadays."

"I have my reasons for that."

"And I assure you, you can relax with me. I mean you no harm. I'm not here to judge you. I don't presume that I know how to fix you. I just want to be near you for a while. Is this okay?"

The bat flexes her jaw a bit, then drawls, "You're one of those special people who genuinely cares to know how I am, once you've asked."

"I don't think such an important question should be asked indifferently," the hedgehog answers.

Silence, for a while.

"Well, all things considered, I guess the company would be appreciated. At least, for now."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

"As for your book, I really think you should ask someone gentler. Someone who still cares to be tactful after all these years."

"That's why I'm asking you."

"Oh?"

"Your dance moves have gotten increasingly sloppy since I first met you, since I grew to know you and care for you as a dear old friend." Amy listens to the tapping of the cane. "You've let them get sloppy. I know you're a skilled dancer when you want to be. If you so choose, you could sweep most people off their feet. But out of all our friends, after all this time, I trust you to be one of the most consistently honest. Like dancing has become less important to you. That is why I want your feedback today. And, if you're willing, we might collaborate again in the future."

"You really want this, do you? To hang out with me, of all people?"

"I do."

Abruptly, Rouge rumbles with laughter, startling the children who flee from their hiding place.

* * *

"You remember when I told you echidnas stink?"

"I do. Dimly."

"I was wrong. You smell really nice."

Knuckles' chest is where Rouge rests her head, her hand on his stomach, tracking his breaths. His heart has finally calmed down. The nervous buzzing in his body has eased away.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I feel bad that I said something so nasty to you."

"That was years ago. I got over it. It's fine, really."

"I'm a nicer person, nowadays. Aren't I? I mean, after all these years, after all I've lived through, I've got to have grown into a nicer person... Right?"

* * *

"You could do good."

"You really think so?"

"If you want to. If it's sincere." Sonic passes Amy the book, his smirk bright and warm, but his eyes softened with concern. "And you're one of the best, most sincere people I know."

"And you think…?"

"You could at least try. Maybe your writing is a way of doing good. Maybe you shouldn't give it up forever."

She notes the familiar weight of the book as it settles in her hands.

"Maybe you shouldn't let your imagination scare you."

And at the same time, she feels strangely encouraged.


	3. Sting

**Sting**

"This place? Really?"

"It'll do."

"Well, alright. I've been in worse dives than this."

* * *

"Here." Amy slides the open book across the sticky tabletop. "This is where I've started over."

"About halfway through. You haven't got much space left."

"That's a matter of perspective. Besides, I can buy more books later. In the meantime, read through what I've written." She sits back again, sipping at her drink. "It isn't very long, but it isn't organised, either. I'm afraid that I've been quite haphazard in expressing my ideas since I took up the pen again."

"Mmhm."

"Once you're finished, we can get started with brainstorming something more concrete."

"Hmm."

"It could be a lot of fun, this joint project. I'd like to have your ideas, too. Maybe this could be a collaboration, proper."

"Maybe."

"Let's just try for now, okay?"

Rouge sips her cider with astounding elegance, her eyes downcast as she draws the book close to herself to begin poring over the pages spread before her. Even with a mixture of concentration and surly forbearance in her brow, she is still the loveliest woman in the room.

Feeling painfully plain, the hedgehog observes the bat with captivated, nervous focus, fidgeting in the seat, in the colourful yet modest choice of clothes. Hoping for approval, for healing, for something good to come of this.

"You have beautiful handwriting," Rouge remarks eventually, mostly to fill the space that silence had cleaved between them.

"Thanks. I'm glad it didn't wither away from lack of exercise. It's like the memory has been engrained in my muscles. It was a bit tiring when I got started again, sure, but now it feels almost like it used to."

"That's comforting."

"Actually," Amy replies quietly, mostly to herself, "I'm not quite sure it is."

They lapse into silence once more.

* * *

The moment Rouge lands in a stumble, Knuckles realises that something is very wrong.

* * *

Amy taps her boot under the table, contemplating her own wisdom or lack thereof before she suddenly and unexpectedly clears her throat, surprising herself.

"What's on your mind?"

"Gratitude."

"Proceed," says Rouge quietly, huskily, not entirely unfriendly. She seems to have eased into a rhythm that suits her and, judging by the relaxation in her shoulders, she doesn't loathe what she is reading.

"I… I just wanted to tell you that I really, really appreciate that you're doing this for me."

"It's fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm humouring you right now, but these snippets of yours are oddly engrossing and not entirely horrible, so I can't say I firmly regret this."

"Great!"

"Curb your enthusiasm, dear."

"Right. Anyhow, I… I wanted to say a proper 'thank you' before, but you were a bit cranky and I didn't want to scare you away, certainly not so soon. I know I can be a bit much, sometimes."

"I'm generally cranky, nowadays. This comes as no surprise to you, of course."

"Please." The hedgehog giggles. "You're not so bad."

"I'm not?"

"You just pretend you're meaner than you really are, to get people to back off."

"You think this is all an act?"

"Most of it."

"I'm very serious." The bat looks up sharply. "I'm unpleasant and I tend to prefer being alone. I've tried to make this obvious to other people but people keep reaching out."

"You're mostly talking about our friends, right?"

"You and our friends. Your efforts over the years have been noted and unsuccessful."

"And I still don't think you're so bad."

"What am I, then?"

"Depressed, yes, but not a terrible person. I don't think any of our friends would disagree with me on that count."

* * *

Shadow stands over the sealed boxes, contemplating them, the few tokens representing the overall enormity of what he has done. A familiar hand settles on his shoulder.

"You can still change your mind, you know."

"I know."

* * *

"Underneath it all, do you think the younger, happier me sleeps?"

Amy swirls her drink around, pondering the strange question. Perhaps it's not so strange.

Rouge suddenly notices the haze.

"You haven't forgotten who you used to be. I'd love to say hi sometime, if you're willing to let yourself out of that icy fortress you've built."

"That was long ago. Leave me to my fortress."

"I'm not satisfied with that answer."

"And who do you think you are?"

"Your friend. Someone who loves you, as hard as you might strive to seem unlovable."

"Or maybe you're my therapist? Or are you a roving knight, coming on your high horse to rescue me from a monster of my own making?"

"I always wondered what I'd be like in gleaming armour…"

"You think I need rescuing?"

"You're the one who implied it."

"What if you climb my tower only to discover I've become the monster?"

"Then I hope you'd be a reasonable monster."

* * *

"Shadow's leaving me."

"What do you mean?"

"He's leaving my house to live on his own. He's growing as a person. Venturing beyond the little realm he and I had made together. Our safe space. Our place."

"Did you guys fight, or…?"

"He's leaving me for her. Now that he's got a girlfriend to consider, it probably wouldn't be fair for him to live with me, a spinster."

Knuckles makes a sympathetic sound.

"I'll be alone. Alone with my things, my thoughts, myself. The notion terrifies me, and I thought I liked my own company."

"But are we ever truly alone?"

* * *

Rouge's eyes probe Amy with intensity that garners a few squirms.

"Did you know that you have the power to make people feel really, really insignificant?"

"Am I making you feel insignificant, hon?"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd blink."

The bat, left with little choice, complies.

"That's better." The hedgehog relaxes considerably, pawing at her glass. "Blink from time to time and I might not disappear."

Another lull.

"How many have you had?"

"A few. I'm surprised you haven't kept count."

"Were you relying on me to do that?"

"Are you implying that I'm an alcoholic?"

Rouge returns to her reading with a sigh.

Amy makes a sad, lonely noise.

Again, another lull.

"Your confidence in me is confusing."

Flooding relief, despite the tension. "How so?"

"This little outing doesn't change anything. But you're holding onto hope. You've got faith that your attention might somehow change me."

"Isn't it worthwhile trying? Perhaps this won't stir any changes just yet, but after a few more of our meetings, a little further into the future…"

"I know you said you don't mean to pretend to have all the answers as to how you might fix me, but still, I feel like a patient on therapy. You like the idea of being a knight, hon, but to me, you're trying to embody my therapist and I don't recall paying you for that service. Is this like community engagement to you? A personal favour to make yourself feel better? Some hollow gesture because that's the socially nice thing to do?"

"I did consider studying psychology, you know, when I was at university. I've read a few books, talked a bit about it, and I thought, hmm, I might just make a decent psychologist. But I haven't ventured into those lands. I'm happy in the medical profession."

"I wanted to go to law school."

"What, really? Why didn't you?"

"I don't know. I don't know the reasons behind many decisions I've made. Like, I don't know why I met you at the park. I'm not entirely sure why I'm sitting here, with you. Why I've been sitting here for hours reading your thoughts when I could find some man's arms to retreat to instead."

"My ideas. You're reading my ideas. Less solid than thoughts, I think."

"Whatever. I have little interest in your book. But I'm telling you right now, kiddo, so you have fair warning."

"Okay."

"If I let you close to me for some reason and you dump me like the others did, I might not be so trusting toward the next person who comes along with the desire to mend me."

"That's a lot of responsibility to carry." Amy can't resist looking a little gloomy at the prospect.

"I come with a lot of baggage. Back out now if you can't handle me."

"I don't see myself hurting you like that."

"But you just might."

"You are in such terrible need of a hug and somebody who understands you."

Rouge narrows her eyes by a fraction before scowling prettily down at the book. "Don't look at me like I need to be pitied. I don't need your pity."

"I can try to understand you without resorting to pitying you."

"Keep your distance and we should get along reasonably well. That's my advice."

The period of silence that follows is strangely heavy.

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault, what happened with you and Shadow, then Knuckles."

"Drop it."

"Even if I don't know all the details… I mean, what could you do? Shadow found someone else and he loves her. It's only right, isn't it, for you to allow him that much? And Knuckles–"

"Drop it now and I might not leave you to your book like they left me to myself."

"Sorry. I just… I want to understand what seems to be gnawing the colour out of you."

* * *

"You can stay, if you want."

* * *

"I should be happy for them, but a part of me isn't." Rouge is speaking so gently.

Amy leans forward to listen.

"I'm being selfish, I'm jealous, and it's a combined, grotesque fault I want to overcome someday, but I don't know how. I have so many faults I want to overcome, but don't know how." The bat's eyes flutter shut. "Shadow and Knuckles. I know they didn't mean me any harm. I've told myself that much so many times, but I treat what happened like personal betrayals. I miss simply caring about them."

The hedgehog, having reached for her drink, forgets about it in the pressure of the moment.

"How can I think so lowly of them, of my friends? Why, after all this time, do I still fester in my own bitterness and hurt? They're happy, until I come along and spoil the mood. Shadow contacts me every day and sometimes I ignore him on purpose, and I know it hurts him in ways he can't describe. I haven't heard much from Knuckles in years. Not just because he's isolated. A lot of it is because of me. I could fly up there and visit him anytime, so, why don't I? He told me I'm always welcome."

Amy's chin rests in her hands, mostly to stop herself from curling up like a cat on the table.

"Don't I want them, my friends, to be happy? Do I have to be the centre of such happiness, the catalyst, in order for this humiliation to stop? Why don't I behave? Do I even want to?" Rouge's eyes open again, darting away, evasive. She looks at the starry sky beyond the window, having failed to notice it before. "I hit myself over and over, but that jealous part of me is still selfishly standing. I can't seem to make myself come right."

They huddle over the sticky little table, the book still open between them, seemingly forgotten.

"I sit, and I seethe, basking pathetically in my own resentment until it makes me act as ugly as I feel. I disdain the people who care about me and I don't really mean it, at least, I don't think I do. And then there are the strangers, those people who saunter up to me like they want to fix me up because having me on their arm, a notch on their belt, might be impressive."

"I'm not like those people, and I like to believe they're a minority that might change for the better, too, someday."

"Maybe you aren't. Maybe they will, or at least, maybe some of them will."

Another of seemingly many pauses.

"I still wanna support you, you know. For real. Not because of empty pity alone, or because people might expect me to do something."

"I got the feeling."

"However I can." The hedgehog smiles. "However you need me to. If you'll let me, I can at least try."

The bat takes in a deep breath, then exhales at length. "It's getting late and I'm not finished yet."

"I've distracted you."

"Indeed."

"Look, if you don't want to–"

"Why don't you leave the book with me and let me get back to you tomorrow?"

"Right. Okay. Let's do that, then."

Smoothly, Rouge pushes the chair back, allowing her the space to stand. Tall, fashionable and imposing, she closes the book and takes up her cane, leaning heavily upon it to compensate for her knee, which hurts. She doesn't show it.

"This means you still want to see me again, right?" With far less poise Amy follows, swaying on her feet. "I wasn't too much for you?"

"I might give this another go. Or I might simply return your book to you. I haven't quite decided, yet."

"Was… Was this useful to you, at all?"

"Somehow, I feel less trapped within myself, if that makes sense. Talking to you about how I feel and think… I guess it was a little therapeutic, after all."

"Great. And… I would really like to see you again, but…"

"But what?"

"Would you consider speaking to a professional?"

"Probably wise, but that requires effort and it'll cost me. Why bother when you're so willing and free?"

* * *

"I thought I was adventurous. I thought I was brave. Why am I so troubled by this change?"

* * *

"Are you okay to get home on your own?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You seem a little… drunk."

"Not that far gone at all, really."

"I can carry you home."

"Thanks, but I'm going to pass."

"Don't trust me not to drop you?"

"It's not a matter of trust."

"Ah. Trying to maintain your dignity?"

"Something like that. Or maybe I'm just being stupid and proud. Anyway, I have a really big hammer and the strength to use it if anybody hassles me on the way home. I should be okay."

"Very well. Just don't pass out someplace before you get home."

"I'll try not to."

"You have my number. Call me if you're in trouble."

"Thank you."

"Goodnight, Amy."

"Goodnight, Rouge. Have a pleasant flight."

The bat has already taken off, vanishing into the sparkling ink like she's dissolved.

The hedgehog searches for a minute or more, then wishes for a coat, turning to begin her unsteady walk.

* * *

"Thanks for listening."


	4. Emission

**Emission**

"I'm outside."

"Great! I'll be down in a few minutes."

"See you, soon."

"I look forward to it!"

Rouge ends the call with the brush of her thumb and pockets her cell phone, watching the house through the shade of her expensive name-branded sunglasses. Nursing her reservations, she wonders what exactly she's gotten herself into. Amy sounded ecstatic once they'd agreed to this outing and this enthusiasm seems to remain.

After a brief wait, the door opens and the hedgehog steps into the heat of the sunshine and the crispness of the fresh air outside, spotting the sleek convertible almost instantly. She throws up her open hand high above her head, balancing on the tips of her beaded sandals, and waves enthusiastically. "Hi!"

Its roof folded back and windows rolled down, the curves of the car and its dark paintjob make it look like some jungle predator crouched in hiding, like a panther. Its driver resembles a pearl. With a tanned, folded arm overhanging the door, the glossy white bat leans out a little and begins reaching for her sunglasses so as to lower them in an effortlessly stylish way. She gets a blast of colour in return that makes her her cool eyes, halfway exposed, blink with some admiration. "Wow," she says to herself.

Smiling broadly, Amy bounds down the narrow cobbled pathway, gliding in a dress that cries of the summer.

"You look incredible."

"Thanks!" With a girlish little laugh the hedgehog dances around the back of the car to reach her side, then, after receiving a permissive nod, she nimbly vaults herself into the plush passenger seat without opening the door first, like in the movies. Her landing is light and unforced, her skinny figure hardly shifting the vehicle as she settles. "You, too! I really like that shirt." Her dress pools about her similarly to the blushing petals of a flower, her namesake.

Rouge glances down at her outfit through her still lowered sunglasses, the tropical palm fronds cheerful against the clean white cotton of the shirt, sleeves folded at the elbow, the front partway unbuttoned and baring bronzed flesh. "Shadow picked it out as a surprise."

"Really? That's interesting… and sweet."

"He's quite chic, really, despite the limited wardrobe."

"Aaaw. And he's more generous than he tends to let on, clearly."

"Yes, he is."

Silence for a time.

"I don't think I've seen you wear it before, your shirt. When'd he get it for you?"

"Oh, I don't remember. Years ago? I've had it hung up for a while, anyway."

"It hardly looks worn. Like it got bought only yesterday."

"I wasn't crazy about it when he first gave it to me. Quite selfish of me, I know, but I put it away and forgot about it for a while. Since I recently rediscovered it, I've hesitated to wear it."

"Why? It looks really nice on you."

"Memories."

"Memories?"

"I think I keep worrying I'll bump into him whilst wearing it. But, since you're with me, I don't feel quite as endangered as I do when I'm–"

Green eyes meet with aquamarine.

"Alone," the bat finishes very quietly, before she looks to the road ahead. Wondering why she said it.

"Why worry about that?" The pink hedgehog's voice is tender, kind. "He'd appreciate it, I'm sure he would, seeing you wear the shirt he gave to you. He'd probably tell you how beautiful you look in it, too."

Rouge places one hand on the steering wheel, like she's bracing herself. "I doubt it's worth explaining."

"Oh." Amy's radiant smile has gradually shrunk and all she's left with now is a concerned, delicate frown. Her eyes are like the rolling, shimmering hills of somewhere far from trouble, somewhere unpolluted, and they search the other's still, oceanic, evasive gaze until the connection is lost by the abruptly raised sunglasses.

"Shall we be going?"

"I guess so. Where are we going?"

"It's a lovely day. How about the beach?"

"That sounds wonderful."

"The beach it is, then."

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Rouge takes a step back.

"I don't mean to be cruel. I just… I want to be honest with you. This… This isn't–"

"You regret me. That's it, isn't it?"

Knuckles opens his mouth mutely.

"You regret being with me. You regret us. But, mostly, you regret me."

He closes his mouth, mutely.

"I suppose, looking back, it's a good thing I didn't actually sleep with you, huh?"

He winces.

"Didn't go all the way. Didn't… let you into that part of myself. A part I've probably been too liberal with, in the past. But, then again, you… You've been special to me, you know?"

He tries to touch her.

She shrinks back. "When I actually considered a long-lasting, stable relationship, a relationship with you…" Her eyes. "You…" Her eyes.

It's hard to face them.

Her eyes.

* * *

"So, this is a story you're intending to write. Nonfiction, hmm?"

"At least, I intend it to be mostly fictional, if not total fiction. And maybe it's one of many stories. Maybe many stories in one."

"Regardless, you need characters, don't you?"

Fast food and milkshakes between them, they are sprawled out on the back seat, leaning partway out their respective windows, talking over the book.

The waves reach along the seashore like the ocean is numbly grasping at shells. The golden sand is littered with colourful specks and shards, the many shells of smaller, lesser creatures.

"About that. I have pondered over who I want the hero to be."

"That's a good place to start."

"I was thinking… a man. I would like to try to characterise a man."

"That'll be interesting for you."

"But I don't know whether he's entirely heroic. What if he's more…?"

"More of an antihero?"

"Yeah. Not a bad guy, just… Maybe he's not the nicest guy."

"He's not always right."

"Exactly." Amy is silent for a moment, before she murmurs, "You don't think this is silly, do you? Me, coming to you, wanting to write a book."

Rouge chews on a potato chip slowly, methodically, in thought.

"Am I being silly?"

The bat swallows. "No."

"No?"

"I don't think so. Others might."

"But you don't think so."

"As if my opinion really matters. I've probably been plenty silly throughout my life."

"Your opinion does matter." The hedgehog raises a burger before her unwilling mouth. "It really does." She eventually takes a bite.

* * *

"You're worrying me."

"Likewise."

* * *

"Maybe you should write him instead."

"Who, me?"

"Yeah, you."

Rouge, incredulous, quickly masks it with a chuckle, reaching for her milkshake, choosing not to peer any deeper, although she dimly sees the silhouettes of implications. "Nah, honey. This is your book, remember?"

"It's hardly mine alone anymore, is it?"

"I'm just here to bounce ideas off of – like a wall to your tennis ball – and maybe contribute here and there. But this book is yours."

"You could be my co-author. This is a collaboration of sorts, after all."

"I'll… I'll think about it, maybe. No promises."

"I don't think we imperfect people should make promises."

"What about wedding vows?"

"Those are different."

* * *

"Wanna take a break? Go for a walk? We can grab some ice cream."

"Yeah. Let's."

* * *

Rouge's exposed belt buckle gleams silver below her firm, taut stomach. Her deep blue jeans, folded below the knees, fit snugly, showing the shapely power of the legs beneath. Still, she limps.

"Want to stop for a while?"

"Hon, I know why you're asking and it's not because of fatigue."

"I just–"

"I want you to stop worrying about me. I'm fine. I can keep going."

Amy can't stop herself from cautiously studying the taller female from sidelong, wincing at the bat quietly struggling to walk, cane anchored in the sand with determination.

"I'll be fine." A murmur to self. "I'll be…"

"You usually hide it so well."

"Hide what?"

"The pain your injury causes you."

"Oh, that. It's not so bad."

The hedgehog stays close, ready. "You can lean on my shoulder, if you want to."

"That's what the cane is for. Besides jabbing and whacking."

"The offer remains."

"Just relax and enjoy the scenery, the weather."

"I can carry you."

Rouge draws to a gradual stop, turning to the sea, away from Amy.

* * *

"Here you go."

"Thanks, you're a peach, so to speak."

They sit on the top of the sand dune, their legs at rest on its gentle decline, lapping at ice cream.

Suddenly, Amy leans over, resting her side against Rouge, the hedgehog's head finding refuge on the bat's shoulder.

"I suppose I ought to ask at some point, so I'll ask now. How's Sonic?"

"He's wonderful. Free as the wind. Single."

"Tails?"

"He's prospering. His company is growing."

"Cream?"

"She's advancing her studies. Beautiful."

"Knuckles?"

At this, Amy's breath cautiously hitches in her throat.

"Have you heard from him, at all?"

"Um… Here and there."

"Is he happy?"

"I… I think so, all things considered. He seemed himself when I last saw him. Sonic and Tails go up there regularly, to lend a hand. More regularly than I do."

"How's the kid?"

"A lot like Knuckles, I guess."

Rouge nods slowly.

"You really should go and see them. All of them."

"When I'm ready, I might."

They don't speak again for several minutes.

"How's Shadow?"

"In love."

"When did you last make contact with him?"

The bat lowers her head, murmuring, "He called again, earlier this morning."

"And?"

"And I let it reach voicemail, again."

"Oh, sweetie."

"He left me a message. He sounded…" The bat shudders unintentionally, earning a pat on the arm.

"Shh. You don't have to tell me."

"I'm glad for that. Because I don't think I can."

The little hedgehog – little despite her years, somehow – lovingly continues to pat and, eventually, caress that very same arm.


	5. Brittle

**Brittle**

"Does life seem kind of… absurd to you, sometimes?"

"How so?"

"Maybe there are days where you feel like you lack purpose, you know? Maybe the feeling comes in the early mornings, when you're lying in bed, your eyes closed, feeling trapped and alone with your thoughts. Your head might hurt and maybe you wish you could keep on sleeping. Or maybe the feeling comes at night, when you're thirsty and unsatisfied, but what you tend to drink isn't what you really need. Maybe the time of day doesn't matter. You might think of doing something you'll regret. Maybe you do it anyway."

Rouge slowly turns her groomed head to gaze cautiously up at Amy, youthfully unkempt and naturally, effortlessly pretty by comparison.

Sitting on the low wall in a fluffy jacket and soft trousers, delicately balanced and bright against the overcast sky, the hedgehog swings her skinny legs from the edge. Her heavyset boots gleam.

The bat frowns delicately. She's standing, but she's also leaning, her back pressing against the wall to ease the weight on her knee. Her cane has been propped beside her in its current disuse. Her eyes are cold and searching. Concerned.

"You might hope for a purpose on those mornings, those nights, those days. The whenever. Maybe you still have hope that it's not too late for you. Hope that you might find some reason to exist and to keep trying to better yourself, let alone try at all."

Large ears downturn very slightly, very subtly.

"But maybe there's the fear that…" Tangible hesitation. The hedgehog runs her tongue briefly over her teeth. "That…"

"That perhaps you're quite useless."

* * *

Sonic sets his hands on Amy's shoulders and gently stops her advance.

Tipsy and shivering, she closes her eyes for a moment. Opens them again and looks up, finding his.

Kind and unwilling.

"Please."

"You know my answer to that already, Ames."

Mounting frustration in the wake of unfulfilled desire, her body aches for him. She can hardly stand it. The distance between their mouths, the way his hips avoid her fingertips, the way he keeps her at bay with force, although gentle.

"I just… I don't know how else to say it. How to make you accept it."

"Then don't. Don't say it. Kiss me, instead."

"After all these years, can't we just be friends?"

"Can't you just pretend we're not? Pretend that we're more than that, at least, for a while?"

He's about to say no, again.

Wrenching herself away, spilling tears, she leaves the room before he can.

* * *

"You aren't useless, hon."

"Maybe."

"And maybe I'm rude, but I'm beginning to think that you're probably just as messed up as me."

Green eyes, filled with energy and emotion, slowly swivel down. "Maybe that's why we hang out, now, huh?" Amy winks, then brushes quills aside, exposing her cheek to the cold.

"Misery loves company." Under such a gaze, Rouge attempts to smile. It's tentative and quiet, but true. "If it makes you feel any better, I think everybody's got a purpose, kiddo."

"You do?"

"Yeah. And I like to think that everybody is capable of doing good, if they so choose, and that ultimately our purpose should be to do good."

"It's so interesting that you're the one telling me this and not the other way around."

"Maybe you're having an influence on me."

* * *

Shadow's room. It's still his room, although it's not.

Rouge crosses her legs, seated meditatively in the centre of the bare mattress. She studies the inviting pile of pillows before her that might, betwixt some fibres somewhere, still carry his scent. She comes here, sometimes, when she misses him. She admits to herself that, actually, she comes here often.

Their quiet talks in the early mornings, his trembling yet firm grip after a nightmare, her head nestled atop his lap whist he reads. It's all still so tangible, so alive, in this place particularly.

She feels the weight of her phone as she slowly draws it out of her pocket and directs her stare upon it. She feels the weight like a distant dream, not quite real to her. The weight of the phone is too real too suddenly when the dial tone resounds like a siren in her ear, then cuts short.

* * *

"Why do you feel like you might have no purpose?"

They've moved on, walking side by side alongside the wall.

"I thought my life's goal was to marry Sonic and have his children. That never happened and I doubt it ever will. Every time I try to get closer to him, despite my change in tactics over the years – sometimes delicate, sometimes delectable, sometimes desperate – he gives me the same answer. Not interested."

"Mm."

"It really hurts my womanhood, you know? That part of my self-worth."

"Yeah, I just might."

Moss grows between the stones, thriving.

"You evidently need to reconsider your purpose."

"Don't know if I want to."

"Even though it might be better for you?"

"I'm in love with him. It's as simple and complicated as that."

Rouge glances aside at her companion.

Amy is deep in thought and yet this makes her look unfocused and aimless on the outside. She craves the numbing buzz of alcohol. She can read the labels on the bottles in her head. She wants to forget but she knows she is more likely to remember, more likely to do something that'll probably make her feel more disgusting and unwanted afterward. She knows not what to do.

"I don't understand it, either."

The hedgehog blinks, surprised by the bat's tone, the unexpected intrusion.

"You're lovely."

Amy glares at Rouge, but it isn't inhospitable. It's disbelieving.

"What, have you led yourself to believe all these years that you're ugly, just because one guy doesn't want you like that?"

"I… I don't…"

"You are not ugly. I'm ugly. I've got an ugliness that's internal and it's worse. But you? You're lovely inside and out."

"You… You really think so?"

"Maybe you don't draw as much attention as I do. But my beauty is skin-deep, as dumb as my admirers might be for not recognising me, who I really am, when they look me in the eye and see mostly bitterness and guilt looking back. People can be superficial like that. Still."

"Still?"

"Even with all my faults, I think you're a catch. You don't give yourself nearly enough credit. Like I said before. You're lovely."

"That's… really kind of you to say."

"Not really. Just saying it like I see it."

"I don't think I believe you."

"Then don't. In my eyes, you're a gem. I know what gems look like."

"I… I want to believe you."

"You might, someday."

"Someday, maybe."

"Yeah. And if you just open your mind and heart to someone else, someone other than Sonic, I imagine you'll have a boyfriend without breaking a sweat."

"I don't want a boyfriend. I want Sonic."

"There's your problem right there."

"He is not a problem!"

"Easy, now."

"Sorry. My fan-girlish tendencies are showing."

"No, he isn't your problem. But your unfair expectations of him are."

"My… expectations."

"Maybe you should just let him be."

* * *

"Hi."

Rouge wants to laugh. She wants to cry.

Shadow's voice, so close, like he's murmuring against her cheek again.

* * *

"I think you could make someone happy. Maybe that someone isn't Sonic, but still, that someone could be worthy of you, anyway. You could find happiness in having that special something with that special someone who makes you happy."

"Maybe. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you want someone special in your life? To have that something special, that happiness?"

"Hon, please, I'm probably too dysfunctional for a relationship."

"I disagree. I think you just need to work on yourself a bit."

Rouge limps, her stony features relaxing as she gestures about herself like she's making a joke at her own expense. "What guy would tolerate me for longer than a quick bit of fun?"

"That isn't fair to yourself. You have qualities that could make him stay."

"Nah, kiddo, I think I'm being fair. Those qualities? Seems like I just… push people away, avoid them, and I sneer at their happiness unless it's my own, too. Seems like I don't make people happy unless it's self-serving, somehow, and that? That seems hideous to me. Where are those qualities you speak of, now?"

"You're terribly brutal."

"Don't hold your breath for me, dear. Rather focus on you, on being your best you. Let me worry about me."

Amy thinks on this for several moments before looping their arms together, the hedgehog forming a link between them, joined by the bat's elbow.

"This is cosy."

"Uh-huh."

"I'll allow it."

"Thanks."

"But consider what I've said, alright? Would you consider it?"

"Consider opening my mind, my heart, to some other guy who is worthy of me, of who I really am?"

"That, exactly."

"Yeah. Maybe I will."

They walk before the onset of rain, arm in arm, together.

"So," Amy says eventually, conversationally, "wanna grab something to nibble on?"

"I want…" Rouge's expression becomes dramatically contemplative. "Donuts."

"I know just the place."

"All the donuts."

"No, not all the donuts."


End file.
